Observations
by GallyGee
Summary: Who is the mysterious stranger and why his interest in Enterprise and her crew? COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

**Observations**  
  
Disclaimer: the characters and Universe of Star Trek do not belong to me, and I'm not making any financial gain from this story.  
  
Constructive criticism welcomed - I have a thick skin. Is there too much description, is it too slow?

A/N: General Season 1 spoilers and a tiny Shockwave II spoiler in a later chapter that I don't think is noticeable unless you've seen the episode.

Who is the mysterious stranger and why his interest in _Enterprise_ and her crew? This story involves all the main characters to some extent with quite a bit of Malcolm.  
  
This story takes place immediately before 'Ceasefire', Season 2.

* * *

Chapter 1-- Bar Fly  
  
Malcolm Reed was perched on a high stool at the bar with his elbows resting on the counter. Between his fingers was cradled a clear glass that he inspected minutely as if for flaws, tilting it this way and that to catch the light. It didn't make the blue drink it contained any more palatable. For one thing, it was far too luminous - by all rights, it should be radiating madly. However, it was innocuous. Too innocuous for Malcolm. He gazed into the virtually alcohol-free drink, drooped a little and sighed. He couldn't for the life of him imagine why Commander Tucker had selected this bar as _the_ place to be on their only night of shore leave on the planet Ramerrum.   
  
None of their Enterprise crewmates had been stupid enough to end up here - only them, Malcolm thought gloomily, wincing at the decor - an unholy jumble of bright primary colors set off by vivid neon highlights. Some artificial, rather dusty fronds adorned the walls, lending a tired, down-at-heel air to the place. The bar counter occupied one side of the stone-flagged room, with tables and seating taking up the rest of the space.   
  
Malcolm cast a jaundiced eye over the other patrons - an unimpressive bunch of aliens in his opinion. He gave a dismissive snort. Was this why he had traveled tens of light years from Earth? Wonderful! The Ramerrum bartender flashed his yellow fangs at the armory officer in what Malcolm took to be an amicable expression. Urghh. Malcolm didn't bother to suppress the grimace that flashed across his own face in return.   
  
Malcolm was sitting alone, Trip having deserted him much to Malcolm's disgust. Malcolm gently swirled his drink around, steeling himself to tackle it again. With a sudden determination, he lifted the glass to his lips to take a gulp of the sickly sweet liquid. It reminded him of a syrupy cough mixture in the way it coated the inside of his mouth and conferred a furry texture to his tongue. Giving a grunt, the miserable officer hunched further over his glass. If this was supposed to be fun, he thought grumpily, then he obviously was not a fun loving guy. Why had he agreed to Trip's suggestion?  
  
The bar had a certain amount of bustle to be sure but most of the other customers appeared to be regulars in their own little cliques and showed no interest in welcoming outsiders. Several other singletons were dotted around, but each was preoccupied in his, her or its own activities. Malcolm was not inclined to make the effort to disturb them. He didn't like making small talk at the best of times, and at present he had no motivation whatsoever.   
  
Malcolm stole a glance over his shoulder toward Trip, sitting on the far side of the room -- he seemed to be enjoying himself. He had somehow managed to charm his way into the confidences of another off worlder, a rather fetching female with golden plumes erupting from her forearms and the nape of her neck. Malcolm wondered idly if they were natural or a decoration, and exactly how far they extended over her body. Then he gave an exasperated sigh. It didn't look as if he would be the one to find out. He rammed his glass down. Hard.  
  
Trip looked up and caught Malcolm's envious gaze. He gave a little shrug and lift of the eyebrows -- something that said quite clearly, 'sorry pal, but you've got to make the most of your opportunities, haven't you?'  
  
Malcolm supposed he would do the same in Trip's position, except it always seemed to be Trip in that position. The feathered beauty had made it quite clear that three was a crowd and Trip had apparently been too taken with her to object.   
  
Malcolm gave Trip a frosty, unamused stare but Trip only smirked and returned his full attention to his new friend who seemed to be melting before him. Malcolm had some uncharitable thoughts concerning hummingbirds and flowers -- Trip looked bloody ridiculous in that multicolored monstrosity of a shirt, but it seemed to attract females whereas his more tasteful and sober attire...   
  
Irritated, Malcolm shook his head in disgust and turned away back to the bar. Well, he consoled himself, at least he was playing safe - not that he had much choice in the matter, he had to acknowledge. He couldn't believe how easy-going Trip had been when striking up an acquaintance with the alien, however attractive she appeared to be. Had Trip learnt nothing from their unfortunate experience on Risa? A brief shudder passed through the armory officer's frame as he recalled that stupefying, seared-in moment when their 'conquests' had revealed their true nature to be shapeshifting ugly male nightmares. His face flushed with embarrassment at the memory. Admittedly, he had been off-duty and pretty drunk, but still... to be fooled so completely. And what was worse, although much of their time on Risa had passed by in a haze which he could not recall, try as he might, that dreadful horror had not yet faded to a bearable level. Thank God the Captain had never found out.   
  
Malcolm growled in annoyance. Some shore leave this was! Perhaps he should have gone wild beast watching with Travis after all. Too late now though...   
  
'Oh, what the hell,' Malcolm thought, straightening up in decision. 'I'll finish this drink and then I'm off. I don't think the Commander needs me to baby sit him.' There were those reports on the planet's security systems he had to finish anyway. He took another gulp and cast his eyes over the decorations behind the bar for the umpteenth time and then across to the seating area.  
  
One of the tables was occupied by an individual who was writing on something resembling a PADD. He was a bipedal, two-armed humanoid, with a blueish tinge to his skin and darker speckling over his forehead. Thick dark blue hair with silvery highlights sprouted from his head in an unkempt flurry. The alien certainly wasn't a native of this planet or any nearby. Speculating on the alien's planet of origin, Malcolm thought it probably had gravity similar to Earth's, judging by his build, and perhaps closer to their sun. Profession? The alien was rather thin and appeared unathletic. An academic perhaps?   
  
Malcolm often amused himself by playing this guessing game; it honed his observational and deductional skills. The alien peered over his PADD to the far side of the room. He was also observing, Malcolm realized with a start. In fact, he was paying excessively close attention to Commander Tucker and friend. There were several other groups in the room. Why was the alien was focussing on this pair? Crimes were infrequent on Ramerrum, but not unheard of and Malcolm suddenly felt uneasy.  
  
Malcolm pointedly turned back again to the bar and looked down at his glass, which was now almost empty. He concentrated on his peripheral vision and noted that the alien was also studying him when he imagined Malcolm was looking elsewhere. So, it was humans in general he was interested in, was it, thought Malcolm.  
  
What should he do? He could just leave now and go back to the ship. Or he could find out why this blue-skinned man had an apparent fascination with humans. It was no contest, of course. Malcolm was conscious that he had a reputation amongst his crewmates for being over cautious and unduly paranoid, but it was the only way to keep everyone safe. Someone had to be prepared by taking a realistic view of the dangers that faced them. Malcolm couldn't ignore something that could turn out to be a threat, despite Trip's annoying behavior.  
  
Waiting until the alien was engrossed with his writing, Malcolm swiveled towards him. The alien looked up to continue with his observation only to find himself meeting Malcolm's best menacing glare. The alien jerked in surprise, clearly flustered. He flinched backwards, his PADD slipping his grasp onto the stone flagged floor where it skittered along with a clatter. Malcolm was highly gratified to learn that the look he had perfected to use on errant subordinates also served him well against this alien. The satisfaction manifested itself as a cruel twist to his mouth, adding to the daunting effect.   
  
The alien gawped at Malcolm in a most unattractive manner, his yellow eyes round with shock.   
  
Malcolm's heart gave a thump as adrenaline coursed through his body. My God! Those eyes! Could this alien be a Suliban!? He cursed silently at his lack of a sidearm.

* * *

TBC 


	2. Confrontation

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.

* * *

** .**

**Chapter 2 - Confrontation**  
  
The yellow-eyed alien was transfixed by the baleful stare of the basilisk that was Malcolm Reed.   
  
Malcolm took a final swig from his glass, and without blinking, replaced it on the bar and calmly stood up to walk nonchalantly over to the alien. At least, he hoped he appeared nonchalant. In reality, he was fighting an urge to fling himself on the alien and give him a swift punch on the nose. But that would not do at all, he told himself, even if this were a Suliban, and quite possibly he was a different species entirely.   
  
As Malcolm approached the table, the alien shook off his inertia and gave nervous glances to either side, as if seeking escape. Finding none, he forced a weak smile instead. Malcolm pulled a chair out and lowered himself to sit opposite the alien.  
  
"Good evening," said Malcolm in a deceptively calm voice, his face expressionless. He sat with his forearms resting lightly on the table, poised ready for action if required but revealing none of his inner tension.  
  
The alien squeaked, blinking rapidly. He stuttered and then spoke, in English to Malcolm's astonishment, "Umm...Yes... G-good evening."  
  
"You speak English!"  
  
"Ah...yes... um..." The alien stumbled a reply.  
  
"We are the first humans to visit this sector. How did you learn our language?" Malcolm demanded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.  
  
"Ah... well, you see, I've traveled near your system and thought it might be useful to learn an Earth language. English is a most fascinating language. Well worth the effort." The alien gave an insincere smile, his thin fingers fidgeting on the tabletop. Malcolm wondered if he was readying some weapon but could see nothing. The alien followed Malcolm's eyes to his hands and suddenly stopped the nervous movement when he realized what he was doing. He met Malcolm's gaze with an embarrassed twitch.  
  
Malcolm did not believe that explanation - it made no sense. Who would go to the trouble of learning the language of an alien people you had little contact with? Unless you were Hoshi Sato, of course. He gave an amused grunt. The alien responded with a little laugh. Malcolm frowned - he instinctively disliked this man. Those yellow eyes were most disturbing.   
  
"What species are you?" asked Malcolm. He was convinced this species was not in Enterprise's database. He had previously consulted it on blue-skinned races after Enterprise's first encounter with the Andorians, and he didn't recall this type now before him being included in the several species listed. The speckling at the temples was quite distinctive.  
  
"We call ourselves... Histians... um," the alien replied haltingly. "My name is... Simit."  
  
"My name is Reed," Malcolm said, clear gray-blue eyes meeting Simit's yellow ones. Simit shifted, uncomfortable under the steady appraisal.   
  
"Yes," Simit said.  
  
Malcolm continued to study Simit intently whilst the Histian squirmed. Was he a Suliban? He couldn't tell.   
  
Simit broke the silence, his voice wavering in pitch. "Are you having a pleasant evening, Lieutenant?" He gave a little bob of the head.  
  
"How do you know my rank?" Malcolm said suspiciously, all senses on full alert now. He eased back a little in his chair, readying for action.  
  
"Um... I heard your friend call you by it," Simit said, dropping the eye contact and fidgeting again with his fingers. Each hand had an opposable thumb and four fingers noted Malcolm, the same as the human pattern.   
  
"I see," Malcolm said deliberately, ready to pounce at the first false move. He cocked his head at the PADD on the floor, "I think you dropped this." He reached down for it, keeping watch on Simit as he did so. The display was blank. Malcolm proffered it to Simit, saying "I hope it isn't broken."   
  
"Thank you. It is quite robust." Simit took the PADD with a tremulous hand.   
  
"What were you writing about?" asked Malcolm, attempting a more conciliatory tone of voice in an attempt to draw some useful information from Simit.  
  
It apparently had some effect. Simit noticeably calmed as he gave a little shrug. "Ah, well, you see, I travel a lot and write about my journeys. My stories are most popular at home." Simit smiled again ingratiatingly. "What about you, Lieutenant. Are you a military man?"  
  
"I'm an officer on a starship. We've traveled quite a way too, but I can't say we've come across your species before."  
  
"We are few in numbers, alas." Simit relaxed a little more. He became bolder. "May I ask, is your ship staying here for long? Where is your next port of call?"   
  
Malcolm gazed at him coolly, finding the man's manner irritatingly obsequious. It was time to make sure this alien was not going to give them any future problems. Staightening up in his chair, Malcolm said, "I don't think our affairs are any concern of yours, do you? I think I should tell you, for your own good of course, that I don't like spies." He pointedly flexed his fingers to form a tight fist.  
  
Simit gave another squeak at that, nervousness fully restored. He said rapidly, "No, you must understand. I am not a spy, truly. I just like to observe, as I said. I had hoped that the Enterprise would be going in my direction as I am currently without transport..." He tailed off as Malcolm's expression grew stony.  
  
"I suppose you know the name of my ship from more _observations_? Well, Simit, Enterprise is not a taxi service. I can assure you, you will not be welcome on board."  
  
Simit swallowed hard. He tried again. "I hope I haven't offended you. Could I buy you a drink perhaps, and you could tell me what it's like to serve on the Enterprise? My readership would be most interested in that. How do you get on with your crewmates, for example, after being together so long? What other races have you encountered?"  
  
"That is none of your business!" snapped Malcolm, who was getting tired of Simit now. He still wasn't one hundred per cent sure, but this alien was either relatively harmless or a damn good actor, and he would bet his bottom dollar on the former.  
  
"Of course, my apologies. You know what it's like. You think you know how someone will react, but when you come to the point it's quite different. Quite an education. The reality. Worthwhile if a little unsettling..." Simit rattled away talking nonsense. He stopped abruptly as he realized what he was doing. "I think I should be going. It has been a great honor to meet you, Lieutenant Reed. Perhaps we shall meet again."  
  
Before Malcolm could frame a response, Simit had jumped up and scuttled off across the room. Malcolm noticed Simit couldn't resist another observation of Trip as he left.  
  
Trip was still snugly ensconced with the plumed female and quite oblivious to anything else.   
  
Malcolm sighed. Report writing it would be, then.

.

* * *

TBC 


	3. Midday Meetings

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Thank you to my reviewers. I enjoyed writing this but it is encouraging to know someone else is interested in reading it.

* * *

****

**Chapter 3 - Midday Meetings  
**  
At the landing field, Enterprise's shuttlepod waited patiently for its passenger. A heat haze shivered over its hull as the yellow Ramerrum sun reached its zenith, standing high in a cloudless sky. The only activity to be seen in the scorching heat of midday was a few delicate multi-colored insects gliding on the thermals.  
  
Captain Archer stood in the shade of a loosely woven awning poled out from the flight office and gazed about. The landscape was breathtaking. In the distance, grand snow-capped peaks stepped across the horizon. A shallow clear stream murmured nearby, cascading over a stony bed.   
  
Soon he would be back on his ship and subject to its recycled air and relentless routine. He fully intended to make the most of this rare moment of quiet. Archer filled his lungs with the sweet scented air, perfumed by numerous types of flowers growing in exuberant abundance all around. Another successful first contact had been achieved. It had gone remarkably smoothly. Perhaps he was at last beginning to get this right, he thought with some satisfaction. There had been no unexpected cultural misunderstandings; no unreasonable demands; co-operative officials; and Chef had excelled himself.   
  
He cast a critical eye over the shuttlepod a thirty meters away but could find no fault. The crew still kept it trim and shipshape despite all its adventures. Yes - his crew was the best too. All was right with the world. Well, his world and his universe. His smile broadened.   
  
An alien appeared at his side. "Good day," he said politely.  
  
"Good day," Archer replied, turning to face his new companion, who was also a visitor to this world, judging by his appearance. "I was admiring the landscape."  
  
The alien nodded in agreement and swept his eyes over the scene. "Yes. It is most attractive, especially the insect life. Those flyers over there are found all over this continent. Have you been here in the evening? They 'sing' then. At least, that is what the natives call it, and it truly sounds like music. Cascades of sound." The alien gave a faraway smile and tipped his head to one side as if he were hearing the insect-song again, eyelids half-closed.   
  
Archer grinned at his enthusiasm and gave a regretful shake of his head. "No - I missed that and I'll be leaving soon. That's a shame. I would have liked to hear them. Are you an exo-biologist, Mr...?"  
  
The alien ceased his internal insect-song recital and gave Archer his full attention. With a small bow, he said, "My name is Simit. No, I'm not a professional in that field, but I enjoy learning as much as I can about the places I visit. For example, there are local legends about the flyers... how they encompass the souls of ancient spirits. I've been spending my last day gathering those stories together. It is a fascinating tradition."   
  
"Ahh, so you are leaving today too?" asked Archer.   
  
"I had intended to, but alas, the ship that was to have taken me has received a change of orders to go to a different destination - not to where I need to go. So I am stranded here, not that that is a great hardship," Simit said, spreading his arms wide. "This is an attractive world. At least, I find it so."   
  
"Yes. I have to agree with you," said Archer with a grin, finding Simit's attitude amplifying his own immense good humor.   
  
The alien evidently was not worried by the prospect of staying a little longer. He laughed, a deep throaty sound. "I don't suppose you have met my species before? There are few of us now. I'm a Hista. I journey around to learn about different places and peoples, and write about my experiences."  
  
Archer noted Simit's deep blue silver-flecked hair, blue-tinged skin and golden eyes. An interesting combination, he thought. He replied, "No. I haven't come across any of your species. I'm Archer, by the way."  
  
Simit held out his hand human-fashion and they shook.  
  
"Where is your next port of call, Mr Simit?"  
  
"The people here call it the Portagar system."  
  
Archer waited for a translation. "That is a coincidence! We call that system Tashimar, and that is where we are headed next. We've just received the orders."  
  
A thought struck Archer. This alien seemed to be an agreeable and entertaining companion, and it would be a good opportunity to find out more about a new species. Hoshi would get to learn a new language first hand. He made a decision. "Would you care to travel with us, Mr Simit?"  
  
Simit's golden eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, Mr Archer, what a generous offer. Would your captain allow that?"  
  
"I can guarantee he will," said Archer genially, "since I am the captain! If you can be ready soon, I'll wait for you. Otherwise, I'll send another shuttlepod down for you."  
  
"I have everything to hand, already packed and can be ready in a few moments." Simit flashed Archer another broad smile and rushed off into the flight office to collect his baggage.

ooOOoo

"Hey, Malcolm! Hold up."  
  
Trip half ran along the corridor to catch up. It was lunchtime and they were on their way to the mess hall from their respective departments. Malcolm slowed his speed. "Trip," he acknowledged, half turning towards him.  
  
"Sorry you missed out last night," said Trip, drawing alongside and matching Malcolm's pace. He had been feeling guilty all morning but this was the first chance he'd had to speak to Malcolm.  
  
"Oh?" Malcolm wasn't entirely paying attention. He was thinking about a glitch he had discovered during his latest systems checks. There appeared to be a conflict between two sub-routines, not in itself a cause for grave concern but...  
  
"Yeah. You know, with Faffiola and all." Trip watched his friend for his reaction. He wasn't sure if Malcolm's apparent distraction was real or a calculated ploy.  
  
"Ahh, yes. The delectable Faffiola," Malcolm considered, playfully repeating her name in a drawn out fashion. He smiled ruefully, "Well, you know what they say - two's company, three's a crowd."  
  
"You're not mad are you?" Trip was concerned.  
  
"Nah. It's okay. I was a little cross at the time but I understand." Malcolm flashed him a small smile in reassurance.  
  
They walked on into the next corridor. Trip wondered whether to say something. With sudden abandon, he thought, well, he's never going to learn if I don't tell him...  
  
With a silent prayer and a deep breath, Trip gathered his courage and said, "Malcolm..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Um. You know, Faffiola was going to call her friend. Get her to come over to make a foursome."  
  
"I don't remember her saying anything," said Malcolm, surprised. He was sure he would have remembered her saying something like that.  
  
"Um. She did. After you left. But she said she decided not to because... because..." Trip coughed as he found the words stuck in his throat.   
  
"Yes?" prompted Malcolm.  
  
Trip swallowed, wishing now he hadn't started on this tack. He came to a halt, took another deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he found Malcolm's boring directly into them at an unnervingly close range.  
  
"Yes, Trip. What?" Malcolm was intrigued.   
  
Backing against the wall to regain his personal space, Trip replied in a rush, "She said, she felt like she was under suspicion for murder or something..."  
  
Malcolm gaped soundlessly for a moment, then exclaimed, "What!? That's ridiculous! What made her say that!?"  
  
"All those questions." Trip didn't blame her, actually. Malcolm had been pretty relentless. However, Malcolm clearly didn't see it like that.  
  
"I was only showing an interest," said Malcolm, sounding a little hurt.  
  
"It came across as an interrogation, Malcolm!"  
  
"Did it?" Malcolm was genuinely puzzled. "It wasn't meant to."  
  
"I know," Trip sighed. "That's why I thought I should say something."  
  
"Oh." Malcolm stood for a moment, one cheek twitching as he processed this unexpected intelligence. Then he resumed his march to the mess hall, Trip in tow.   
  
Trip gave his friend a sideways look as he drew alongside him. "You're not mad at me are you?"  
  
"No. Thanks for telling me. I appreciate it." Malcolm's weak smile gave lie to his words. He bit his lower lip nervously. "Umm. I suppose I was too much in 'security mode'. I wanted to make sure we didn't have another nasty surprise, you know..." he looked around furtively. There was no one nearby but he still whispered the next words, "Like on Risa."  
  
Trip jerked his head around too for eavesdroppers and exhaled explosively in relief when he saw they were safe.  
  
Malcolm promised, "I'll try to behave more appropriately next time. No interrogations."  
  
Nodding, Trip considered that perhaps they might have to have a reminder of this talk before their next jaunt, but he was pleased he had had the courage to say something. He remembered something else pertaining to the previous night.  
  
"The Captain said you made a friend last night too. First contact of sorts." Trip looked at Malcolm expectantly.  
  
"What?"   
  
"Some guy you got talking to?"  
  
Malcolm stopped dead. He could only be referring to that sleazeball, Simit. "How does the Captain know about that?" he demanded.  
  
"I think they got chatting together in the shuttlepod on their way up. What, Malcolm?" Malcolm's face had turned to thunder.   
  
"The Captain didn't say anything to me about a visitor!" Malcolm spat out, arms crossed firmly across his chest and looking everywhere except at Trip.   
  
Trip was confused by Malcolm's strong reaction. He said soothingly, "Relax! They only came on board a short while ago. I don't suppose he has had the opportunity to talk to you yet."  
  
Malcolm compressed his lips into a tight line. He scowled at Trip. "Relax, Commander?! How can I relax when the Captain invites alien visitors on board with absolutely no security presence called for!" He realized something else. "Also, we've now left orbit. Does that mean he is traveling with us, as a passenger?! With no security input invited?!"  
  
Trip stopped himself rolling his eyes. He tried to placate his friend. "We get plenty of visitors. The Captain has to use his own judgment. Anyway, now you know!"  
  
Malcolm was seething, and not doing too good a job of hiding it, at least in front of someone who knew how to read him. "Commander..." He petered out as he realized that whatever he said in his present state was likely to be highly insubordinate. He blinked and took a few deep breaths. "I'll comm the Captain and see..."  
  
As if cued, the nearest comm panel chirruped into life Archer to Lieutenant Reed.   
  
Throwing a venomous glare at Trip, Malcolm answered with a curt, "Reed."  
  
Could you come to my Ready Room, Malcolm? We have a new passenger on board.   
  
"On my way, Sir. Reed out."  
  
Trip raised his eyebrows at Malcolm who returned the gesture. "Looks like I'll be skipping lunch, Commander." With that Malcolm executed a smart about turn and strode off down the corridor with a determined set to his shoulders.  
  
Trip gave a sigh as he watched the retreating officer. He caught the words 'bloody' and 'taxi' floating down the corridor in his wake.

* * *

TBC 


	4. A Difference of Opinion

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Thanks for the continuing encouragement.

* * *

**Chapter 4 -- A Difference of Opinion   
**  
As Archer approached Sick Bay, he could hear two readily identifiable voices in heated discussion. Or rather, Phlox's mellow tones remained unchanged whilst Malcolm's became increasingly strident. Archer couldn't distinguish individual words from the corridor but he had a good idea what the argument was about. He was annoyed with his armory officer. Malcolm was good at his job but his terrier-like inability to let things go sometimes clouded his judgement. It was clear Archer was going to have to be firm with him. He had already listened patiently to Malcolm's views on Simit and that was the end of the matter as far as he was concerned - Simit was staying.   
  
Steeling himself, Archer stepped through the doors into Sick Bay. Malcolm had his back to Archer and Phlox was facing him. The Lieutenant's customary well-tuned senses failed to register the Captain's arrival, deeply embroiled as he was in his confrontation with the Doctor.   
  
".... And I tell you, that alien is a potential threat!" snarled Malcolm, viciously stabbing his finger in Phlox's direction. Each syllable was enunciated with the cut-glass precision that characterized the man's speech when he was exerting maximum self-control.   
  
Archer recognized the signs - Malcolm in full military mode. Why did Malcolm still seem to find it difficult to accept that they were on a mission of exploration and should be embracing new species... not off-loading them onto the nearest asteroid? Well... Perhaps that was unfair to Malcolm, but then again...  
  
Phlox's response was in a cheery tone but also filled with implacable determination. A slight smile on Phlox's face revealed his relish for the tussle. "And as I told you, Lieutenant, I will not perform such a scan on our visitor without the Captain's specific approval, and even then I would strongly advise against it."   
  
Archer cleared his throat "Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?"  
  
Malcolm jumped as if shot and spun round on his heels to face his Captain. Archer noted with grim approval that he had the grace to look sheepish at being caught in the middle of his tirade. Malcolm opened his mouth to speak, but it was Phlox who got in first.  
  
"Captain, Mr Reed wishes me to investigate our passenger, Mr Simit. For some reason, he believes him to pose a danger to the ship." Phlox interlaced his fingers over his stomach. "I have, of course, performed the standard procedures to check for viruses and the like when you both came on board. However, I cannot condone carrying out the deeper scans the Lieutenant demands when we have no evidence of this man's ill intent."  
  
Malcolm said, "But we could do it without him knowing. Bring him here for you to scan while he's... um... admiring your menagerie." He swept a vague arm around Sick Bay.  
  
Phlox was most unamused now. "That would be both unwise and unethical! Many species believe such procedures to be a gross invasion of privacy, and some might even suffer harm through them."  
  
Malcolm rolled his eyes at this and looked skeptically at the Doctor.   
  
Archer certainly had no qualms about Simit - well, no more so than any other visitor they might have on board. He didn't know what had gotten into Malcolm. Perhaps he was annoyed that he had not been informed immediately of Simit's arrival? Archer made a mental note to put his armory officer at the head of the list next time. It might make him a little more amenable.   
  
"Very well, Doctor, I agree with your recommendation and..."  
  
"But, Sir!" interrupted Malcolm, "I really think..."  
  
"Mr Reed!" said Archer in his most commanding voice, halting Malcolm in his tracks. "I am well aware of your views on our _guest_," he emphasized 'guest', "who is on board at my invitation -- my personal invitation. I will not have him subjected to an investigative procedure on your whim. I can't see what that would achieve in any case."  
  
"Yes, Sir," said Malcolm unhappily, dropping his gaze.   
  
Archer softened. After all, his officer was only trying to do his job. "Look Malcolm. If you had any solid reason to suspect Mr Simit of posing a threat to Enterprise, I would want to follow it up too, but I don't think you do, do you?"   
  
"Only that he was asking questions in the bar last night, and watching us. He was extremely nervous... He speaks English... He seemed to know about Enterprise..." Malcolm's tone was insistent as he catalogued his points.  
  
"Well, many people knew we were in port. It wasn't a secret, after all," Archer replied reasonably, privately thinking that many people might also feel nervous when faced with a belligerent Malcolm Reed.   
  
Phlox said, "Mr Reed has another concern. He has noted that Mr Simit has yellow eyes. He believes he could be a Suliban in disguise." He gave a dismissive shrug - evidently he did not rate this possibility.  
  
Archer took a deep breath. Malcolm hadn't mentioned this particular worry to him before. Archer could understand Malcolm's anxiety at the prospect of a Suliban soldier running around the ship. Hell, he would be worried too, if that were the case.  
  
"Malcolm, I know you had a rough time at the hands of Silik, but..."  
  
A flash of anger flared in Malcolm's eyes, "Sir, it has nothing to do with that. I simply think we should guard against such threats, given that we know how hostile the Suliban can be. I have no personal agenda concerning the Suliban!"   
  
"Of course not," agreed Archer, but he wondered, not for the first time, if that experience had left its mark. "Doctor? What do you make of Simit's eyes?"  
  
Phlox gave a broad smile, pleased to expound on his knowledge, "Ah yes, the Suliban have yellow eyes, but then so do a number of other species. It is a useful evolutionary adaptation for environments that are high in ultra violet radiation. Of course, if a Suliban did want to disguise himself, he could readily change his eye color. And would do so, I suggest. Thus, on balance, would it not be more likely that Mr Simit is not a Suliban?"  
  
"Unless it's a double bluff," muttered Malcolm, crossing his arms and pointedly frowning at the wall.  
  
Archer held up his hands, "Enough! Lieutenant, you may assign one of your team to escort our visitor while he is with us. However, that is it. I don't want to hear any more about this. And..." he looked meaningfully at the glowering armory officer, "I want him treated with proper courtesy. This is a reflection on my ship. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
Malcolm nodded and sighed, defeated and deflated, "Yes, Sir. Perfectly."  
  
"Good! Now there is a senior staff meeting in thirty minutes. I want you concentrating on our next mission. Leave your man to keep an eye on Simit and forget about him."  
  
Malcolm straightened. "Aye, Sir," he replied with resignation.  
  
ooOOOoo  
  
A couple of hours later Malcolm's annoyance had subsided to mild irritation. He was working on target sensor calibrations, a fairly mindless if important chore. It was a task that he tended to use as a means of meditation, not that he consciously realized that. The routine of taking readings, adjusting, more readings and so on, allowed him to regain his equilibrium.  
  
He finished one set with a grunt of satisfaction and began to prep the next set. Perhaps he had overreacted about Simit, he mused. He had already decided on the planet that the alien was unlikely to be dangerous. It would have been nice to have Phlox take some scans, but it wasn't essential. After all, as everyone had told him, most visitors underwent no clearance procedures whatsoever. That thought unsettled him again, but he refused to let his mind be dragged along that well-worn path and concentrated again on his readings.  
  
Perhaps he really was too paranoid. He paused as he thought about Trip and... Faffiola.   
  
But then he remembered those aliens who had tried to steal his torpedoes by sending the crew to sleep, and the way the Suliban had been able to board with no resistance, and... No, he decided, he was just doing his job, and damn those who tried to sway him away from his duties.  
  
He finished the calibrations and sighed.   
  
It was no good. He had to see what the alien was up to. He had to get O'Donnell's report in any case. Surely the Captain couldn't object to that?  
  
He put away his tools and made for Engineering.  
  
ooOOOoo  
  
Malcolm entered Trip's domain with some trepidation. He was fairly sure the Captain was on the bridge, but one could never be entirely certain. He did like to get around his ship, as a good captain should. But Malcolm was safe. The only people to be seen were Trip, his engineering team, O'Donnell - looking very bored - and Simit. Simit and Trip were deep in conversation. Malcolm could see Trip's animated features and heard him laugh. He appeared to be getting on very well with the alien.  
  
Malcolm sidled up to O'Donnell, not wanting to draw Trip's attention.  
  
"Crewman," he said.  
  
O'Donnell let out a squawk, then said shamefacedly, "Sorry, Sir. You startled me."  
  
"Yes, so I see. Stay alert, O'Donnell."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
Malcolm watched Trip pull out what seemed to be a sheet of paper. Where did he get that from?  
  
He turned to O'Donnell, "Report."  
  
"The alien has spent most of his time here, Sir. He has spoken to Commander Tucker, Lieutenant Hess and several other crew. I believe they have been discussing the Warp 5 reactor." O'Donnell's voice suddenly became more enthusiastic. "The Commander has an original blueprint, signed by Henry Archer. He let me see it too!"  
  
Steady up, man, thought Malcolm, but he said nothing. This sort of work was tedious at best and if O'Donnell had found something to keep him motivated, that was all to the good.  
  
O'Donnell said, "Mr Simit is very interesting to talk to, Sir - we had quite a chat. He said he would like to find time to speak with you too."   
  
Malcolm winced. That odious little man - No thanks! He said, even managing to put a touch of regret into his tone, "I don't think that will be possible. Extend my regrets to Mr Simit, and remember, he is not permitted in the Armory."  
  
"Yes, Sir. Understood."  
  
Giving a nod of acknowledgement, Malcolm made for the door. He heard Trip guffaw and then Simit's voice calling, "Lieutenant? Lieutenant Reed..."  
  
Can't hear you, said Malcolm to himself as he left at a brisk walk.

* * *

TBC 


	5. Mess Hall Conversations

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

* * *

****

**Chapter 5 -- Mess Hall Conversations  
**  
The Mess Hall was busy but Hoshi and Travis had managed to find a free table by one of the windows. They had both opted for ravioli and were tucking in.   
  
Travis asked, "How are you getting on with our visitor? Have you learnt his language yet?"  
  
Hoshi gave a rueful grin. "He seems more interested in learning ours! He doesn't want to speak Histian as he says there are so few of his species it's not worth me taking the effort over it." She sighed and speared another piece of pasta. "Of course, that is exactly why I'd like to learn something of it, but he's only given me a few phrases and to be honest, I haven't enough to string the simplest sentence together."  
  
Travis gave her a sympathetic smile, "Well, I don't suppose you can force him. He seems a pleasant enough guy though. He's got some very interesting stories." He didn't like to mention the tenor of those tales to Hoshi, not that he would be embarrassed or anything... He gave an involuntary broad grin as he remembered the one about the females on Trappa, a planet not far from their course. Now how could he nudge Enterprise in that direction without being busted?   
  
Hoshi grinned back at him. She had a pretty good idea what Travis might be thinking about. She said, trying to bring the conversation back to more cultural matters, "Simit's been telling me about some of his people's customs and social organization, which is interesting."   
  
"Uh, yes. Very interesting." Travis' mind was still elsewhere.  
  
Hoshi spied Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed entering the Mess Hall and indicated to them the spare seats at their table. As she did so, she said out of the corner of her mouth, "I hope the Lieutenant's in a better mood today. He's the one person who doesn't seem to like Simit."  
  
Travis snorted, "He still thinks he's a security risk, but after three days of no suspicious activity I think even Malcolm is beginning to think he's being overly wary." He lowered his voice, "Did you know he ordered O'Donnell to deliberately have Simit meet the Captain when he was walking his dog?! He told me that Porthos is particularly sensitive to Suliban!"  
  
Hoshi spluttered and almost choked "What?! Really?" She laughed. "Did Simit pass the test?"  
  
"With flying colors! Porthos took quite a liking to Mr Simit."  
  
Hoshi giggled as she envisaged Malcolm seriously entering the Porthos-sensor data in his security log. Number of tail wags versus woofs! She shared her mental picture with Travis, who wondered about how to calibrate Porthos, and the two of them were still laughing with a slightly hysterical edge when Malcolm and Trip sat down at the table.  
  
Trip smiled at them inquiringly, "Care to let us in on the joke?"  
  
"Oh, it's nothing, Commander," said Hoshi, trying to calm down. She dared not look at Malcolm. "We were just... talking," she ended lamely, with an apologetic glance at Travis.  
  
Travis rolled his eyes but couldn't do any better. Instead, he decided to change the subject, "How are the phase cannon modifications going?" He knew that would divert at least Malcolm's attention. As it happened, Travis had chosen a good topic for the purpose.  
  
"Very smoothly," replied Malcolm, happily loading his fork, "We are getting some encouraging results. When we apply the mods to all three cannon, we should see a two per cent increase in output power." He grinned at his companions.  
  
Trip nodded, "Yeah. We've made a lot of progress today."   
  
"Are you going to the movie tonight?" Hoshi asked Malcolm, not wanting to get caught in a conversation about the merits of various technical improvements to phase cannons.   
  
Malcolm paused in his eating, his fork halfway to his mouth. In a considering tone, he said, "I hadn't been planning to, but perhaps I deserve a break."  
  
Hoshi nodded in agreement. "Yes. Treat yourself." She was all for getting the Lieutenant to relax a little. He spent far too much time working, in her opinion, and surely that much time communing with armaments couldn't be healthy?   
  
"What's showing anyway?" inquired Malcolm, who really didn't pay much attention to the film shows.  
  
Trip beamed around the table, with the air of one bestowing a great gift, "A classic. You'll love it!"  
  
Malcolm viewed him skeptically. "Hmm. Why aren't I convinced when I hear you say that?!"  
  
"You should be. You know I've got impeccable taste."  
  
"Haa haa," said Malcolm dryly and sounding far from convinced.   
  
Trip paused for effect, building the anticipation, then said, "It's 'An American Werewolf in London'."  
  
Malcolm choked and looked at Trip in amazement, "You're joking! You call that a classic film?"  
  
Trip was not phased by this reaction by one iota, "Absolutely. Plus you get to see home, as an added bonus."  
  
"Commander, contrary to what some might think, not all British people come from London you know!"  
  
"I'm sure you've visited there plenty of times." Trip winked at Hoshi and Travis.  
  
Malcolm muttered, "Give me strength!" and rolled his eyes heavenwards, to Trip's immense amusement which he made no effort to hide. He loved to tweak the Lieutenant's tail.  
  
At that moment, Simit arrived and hovered uncertainly by their table. "Hello everyone," he said.  
  
This was met with a general murmuring of greetings from the officers. There was enough space to accommodate him at the table and Trip extended a polite invitation.  
  
"Please join us."  
  
"Thank you," said Simit, sitting down and smiling at the welcoming faces. Even Malcolm managed a less hostile glare than he normally favored Simit with.  
  
Malcolm cleared his throat, "Mr Simit, I hope you are enjoying your visit with us?" Malcolm was, to his credit, trying to be obliging. He even managed a smile of sorts, although the uncharitable might have called it a grimace.  
  
"Yes, thank you. I'm finding it very intriguing," Simit said, beaming around the company.   
  
They discussed Simit's tours of Engineering, Sick Bay and Hydroponics. He assured his new friends that it was all most interesting and he was particularly enjoying watching the teamwork of the crew.  
  
Eventually, to Hoshi and Travis' huge delight, Simit said, "Yesterday Crewman O'Donnell was kind enough to introduce me to the Captain's dog. A most beguiling creature."  
  
Malcolm shifted uneasily at this revelation. "Ah yes. Good," he said, frowning at his plate.   
  
"And how did you two get along?" asked Hoshi with an innocent air, determined to keep the topic alive.  
  
"Very well indeed. He quite took to me," Simit said happily. "The Captain joked that he is a most valued member of the crew."  
  
"Yes, he is," said Hoshi. "Porthos has some unique qualities." She gave Malcolm a sideways look and was gratified to see the beginnings of a blush.  
  
Before Hoshi could say any more, Malcolm pushed his chair from the table and stood up. "Um yes. Well, I must be getting on. Please excuse me." He cast a slightly wild look around the company and virtually bolted for the door.  
  
"See you tonight?" called Travis.  
  
"Possibly," shot back Malcolm over his shoulder as he disappeared through the door.  
  
Simit looked after Malcolm regretfully. "I don't know what it is, but Lieutenant Reed makes me feel most ill at ease, and now it seems I am doing the same to him. What's the matter with me?"  
  
Trip replied kindly, "I wouldn't take it personally."   
  
Simit shook his head, in a very human fashion. "But he studies me in a most disquieting manner. It makes me feel quite guilty."  
  
Trip grunted. "It's always the same with these security types. No matter how innocent you are, you always feel like you've committed the most heinous crime. It goes with the job, I think."  
  
Simit felt disappointed. He had got on well with everyone else he'd met on the Enterprise, no - Enterprise, he corrected himself mentally, but Malcolm Reed was a different matter entirely. Ironic really.  
  
Trip noted Simit's unhappiness but had just the thing to cheer him up. "Ah, now Mr Simit, since you've become acquainted with Porthos, I think you'll be interested in going to the movie tonight. It's most apt."  
  
Hoshi protested, "Oh. How can you say that!"  
  
Trip gave her a wicked grin and started in on his pie.

* * *

TBC 


	6. A Visit to the Bridge

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

* * *

****

**Chapter 6 A Visit to The Bridge**  
  
Simit could hardly contain his excitement as he traveled in the turbolift with Trip to the bridge. The Captain had extended the privilege to him earlier that day and he was quivering with anticipation, so much so that Trip noticed his agitation.  
  
"Are you okay?" asked Trip, a note of concern in his voice.  
  
"Oh, perfectly, thank you," replied Simit. "I hope I won't get in your way on the bridge?"  
  
"No. Providing you don't take it into your mind to fire off a few torpedoes, we should be fine." Trip saw Simit gasp slightly at that and blink rather rapidly. "It's only a joke," Trip added in reassurance.  
  
Before Simit could respond, they had reached their destination. Simit hung back to allow Trip to go first. He wanted to take his time appreciating his first view of the bridge. He took a pace forward, noting the situation room to his right and the sweep of the various consoles embracing the central command chair. The main viewscreen dominated the area, the blackness of space being punctuated by the warp-distorted images of suns.   
  
Simit glanced around at the crew busily working at their stations. T'Pol was in command, studying her display. Hoshi and Travis were also present. Simit guessed the Captain would be in his Ready Room. He wasn't sure whether he was pleased or disappointed that Lieutenant Reed was not on bridge duty.   
  
The bridge was more claustrophobic than Simit had expected and the lighting dimmer than elsewhere on the ship. He supposed that was to allow the crew to easily read off the displays. He glanced at his feet, springing just a touch on his toes. He could hardly credit that he was treading on NX-01's deckplates at the center of command. A historic moment indeed, with many more to come. Sneaking out a hand, he ran his fingers over a rail, feeling its solidity. A shiver ran up his spine.  
  
T'Pol looked up. She welcomed their visitor with an inclination of her head and a cool, "Mr Simit."  
  
"Sub-Commander," replied Simit. "The Captain said I might spend some time here."  
  
T'Pol said, "The Captain has informed me," and returned to her work.   
  
Simit ambled slowly around the consoles, admiring the efficient layout. He wondered if anyone would object if he inspected the tactical station. As he stood indecisively, unwilling to risk T'Pol's displeasure if it was not permitted, he was distracted by a clatter from Hoshi's direction. Trip had unshipped a panel and was kneeling to peer inside her console with a flashlight poised over the interior. Simit moved closer, pleased at such a good opportunity to observe.  
  
Trip said to Hoshi, his voice a little muffled, "As I thought. It won't take a minute. It's just a minor problem with one of the relays."  
  
Hoshi nodded, "Good. I thought there was more noise in the higher signal bands."   
  
With a grunt, Trip sat back on his heels and gave her a quick grin. "You've got impressive hearing, that's for sure." He stood up. "I'll need to get a part from Engineering, but it will be quick to install." He moved off towards the turbo lift, stopping to talk to one of the engineers.  
  
Simit edged nearer to the console. "May I see inside?" he asked Hoshi.   
  
Checking that T'Pol didn't object, Hoshi said, "I think that'll be okay, providing you don't touch anything."  
  
"I won't," promised Simit, hefting the flashlight left by Trip and directing it towards the fascinating circuitry. He had a good technical education and was eager to see the real life version of his textbooks. He knelt down to see better, using the light beam to trace along the relays, conduits and manifolds. "Amazing!" he whispered.   
  
"I'm sure the Commander will explain it to you when he gets back," said Hoshi.  
  
Simit flashed her a wide smile over his shoulder. "I would very much appreciate that."  
  
Suddenly, the whole ship gave a massive judder - almost as if it had come to a complete halt before an obstacle and then leapt forwards to clear it. The inertial dampers were no match as the ship kicked and bucked. There was shipwide darkness before emergency systems kicked in. With a sickening drop, Enterprise gave one last twist before returning to an even flight path.   
  
Sparking panels leant an acrid odor to the air on the bridge as the crew stumbled to their feet. T'Pol had been flung onto the floor during the unscheduled maneuvers. Clawing her way back to the command chair, she pulled herself up and rapidly surveyed the bridge through the smoke. Everyone seemed to be essentially unhurt, although shaken up and bruised. Trip had also regained his feet and began checking out the systems from the engineering station. The automatic systems had shut down overheated conduits before they caught fire but there was a smoky pall for some minutes while the air recycling worked overtime to purge the atmosphere.  
  
"Report," T'Pol demanded, coughing.  
  
Travis had resumed his post at the helm. His fingers flew across his control panel. He admitted, "I don't know what it was - a spatial disturbance of some kind. Quite localized according to the navigation sensors. I can't detect any other pockets on our course."  
  
Crewman Risse was manning the tactical station. He relayed to T'Pol the injury reports from the rest of the ship. Miraculously there were no serious casualties.   
  
T'Pol acknowledged the reports as the Captain appeared from his Ready Room nursing a bruised elbow. "Everyone okay?" he asked. T'Pol replied with an assessment of the situation. Then she noticed Hoshi leaning down. There was one casualty after all - Simit.  
  
The Histan had been flung headfirst into the open console housing, taking the flashlight with him. Now he lay motionless with the upper half of his body rammed into the space.   
  
As T'Pol went over to her, Hoshi said, her voice shaky, "I think he's badly hurt, but he's breathing and there's a pulse."  
  
"Medical team to the bridge - medical emergency," called Archer over the comm, also going to check on Simit.  
  
Within a couple of minutes, the turbolift door swept open to reveal Phlox and an assistant. Calmly Phlox moved the others aside and directed his medical scanner over the prone form. "I'll need to get him to Sick Bay," Phlox announced as he and his assistant gently extracted Simit from the housing and moved him onto a stretcher.  
  
"How is he?" asked Archer. He swallowed hard as he took in the extensive injuries. There were burns over a large area of Simit's body and his face had come off the worse. It was not a pleasant sight. Hoshi gave a quiet moan and averted her eyes.  
  
Phlox replied, "It is serious. I'll give you a full report when I've examined him." He had lost his cheerful manner and that didn't go unnoticed by Archer. The Doctor ushered his assistant and helpers into the turbolift with the injured alien.   
  
Archer watched them go with a heavy heart. Life could be so arbitrary at times, he thought.   
  
Trip had carried out his preliminary systems checks and was now peering into the void that Simit had pitched into. He whistled softly and shook his head as he swung the flashlight beam over the circuitry within the console. "I don't know how he's managed it, but it looks like every circuit in there is totally fried! He's made connections between conduits that were never meant to be." He glanced over his shoulder at T'Pol and Archer. "This is a big job, Sub-commander, Cap'n. It'll take the better part of a day to get the communications working properly again. We've still got internal functions but external comms are off-line."  
  
The Captain was very concerned for his guest but at the same time, he was grateful it wasn't worse. The damage to Enterprise could be fixed and he had feared a much larger injury list. With accustomed efficiency, the crew got to work to bring Enterprise back to her proper state while Phlox worked away in Sick Bay attempting to revive Simit.  
  
ooOOOoo  
  
Several hours later, Archer received a call from Phlox. It was a call he had been dreading.  
  
Captain, please come down to Sick Bay.  
  
Archer closed his eyes and asked, "How's Simit?" not really wanting to know the answer.   
  
Phlox paused for a beat, then said, I am confident he will make a full recovery. However, my scans have revealed some... anomalies.  
  
Archer frowned, nonplussed by Phlox's answer. It was not at all what he had been expecting.   
  
Captain? said Phlox.  
  
"Uh, yes, Doctor. I'll be down straight away," replied Archer. He closed the channel and grimaced in bemusement. 'A full recovery' Phlox had said. He must have worked a miracle. However, he hadn't liked Phlox's seemingly perplexed tone. And what on Earth did 'anomalies' mean? Oh well, there was only one way to find out.  
  
Archer stepped up onto the bridge from his Ready Room. Everything was under control, with Trip and his team hard at work replacing blown relays and trying to reconstitute the comms system.  
  
Archer caught T'Pol's eye, "T'Pol?"  
  
She followed him off the bridge and into the turbolift.  
  
"Phlox tells me Mr Simit should recover from his accident. However, there does seem to be a problem with our visitor," said Archer turning to T'Pol as the door hissed shut.  
  
T'Pol merely raised an eyebrow.   
  
Archer continued, determined to get some reaction from her, "Phlox tells me he exhibits anomalies, whatever that means."  
  
"Indeed?" said T'Pol, uttered in the most detached tone possible.   
  
Archer was exasperated by T'Pol's seeming lack of interest. He didn't buy it. Her scientific curiosity was burning to know too, he bet. What did Phlox have in store for them?

* * *

TBC

A/N: The next Chapter will be entitled "A Revelation" - Yes, some answers at last!


	7. A Revelation

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Again, thank you for the reviews - they are much appreciated. As promised, here is a part of the answer to the puzzle.

* * *

****

**Chapter 7 A Revelation**  
  
Archer and T'Pol entered Sick Bay in silence. Simit lay unconscious on a biobed on the far side of the room, covered by a light sheet leaving only his head visible. Phlox was busy at a terminal at one side of the room. He was thoroughly engrossed in his work and emitted a humming sound while he tapped away on the keys. Archer winced as Phlox hit a particularly unfortunate series of notes.  
  
Archer cleared his throat, "Doctor."  
  
Phlox swiveled to face them, a widely unnatural smile on his expressive face. "Captain, Sub-Commander, thank you for coming so promptly. How are the repairs to the ship progressing?"  
  
"Everything's on schedule," said Archer. "How is our visitor?"  
  
"See for yourself, Captain," said Phlox, waving an arm in invitation.   
  
Archer stepped over to the side of the biobed, looking up at the incomprehensible overhead charts detailing the vital statistics of the occupant. He had a strong stomach, but still took a moment to brace himself. He hadn't been able to put out of his mind Simit's horrific burns.   
  
Prepared, Archer glanced down quickly, trying to look at Simit without taking in too many details.   
  
It was not what he had anticipated. Archer performed a rapid double-take and studied the patient properly this time. Extraordinary! Simit's face showed no sign of the extensive burns that only a relatively short time ago had so disfigured him. His previously luxuriant hair had gone, but that appeared to be the only evidence of his intimate encounter with the ship's high power systems. Archer's already high opinion of Phlox's skills skyrocketed.   
  
T'Pol had moved to the opposite side of the biobed and silently gazed at Simit, a single raised eyebrow the only sign of her perplexity.   
  
Phlox joined Archer at Simit's bedside. He commented in a conversational tone, "Well, well, Captain. It seems Mr Reed was correct after all."  
  
That calmly delivered statement hit Archer like a phase rifle bolt at full power. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach as a cold numbness washed over him. A Suliban! What mischief had he been up to while on board? He stared apprehensively at Simit, innocent in his insentient state. Why had he ignored Malcolm?!  
  
"He's... he's a... Suliban?" Archer forced out, his throat suddenly dry.  
  
Phlox was amazed, "Oh no, Captain. Far from it!" He smiled as he folded his fingers together over his stomach. Clearly, he was not intending to add to that comment.  
  
Archer gritted his teeth. "I don't understand."  
  
"It appears that Mr Simit is in disguise. He is not what he purports to be! He has been subjected to some extremely advanced genetic manipulation. Quite masterful and far beyond what we have seen with the Suliban. I would not have detected it at all if I had carried out my normal scans. It was only due to my need to go much deeper into his genetic code for treatment that I discovered it." Phlox stood admiring his patient and muttered to himself "Most remarkable..."   
  
A bleep from Phlox's terminal announced the end of some task. Phlox gave a quick nod to the Captain and T'Pol, and bustled over to it, eager to see what it had produced. Archer was left staring after him in utter frustration. T'Pol swayed a little but betrayed no other sign of impatience.   
  
Phlox became absorbed in his terminal display, drawn there despite his Captain's presence. His Captain required more information, however.  
  
"Doctor, what is he then?"  
  
"Hhmm...?" said Phlox, still concentrating on his terminal.  
  
"Doctor!"  
  
"Oh, Captain. Please forgive me, but I've never seen anything quite like this before," replied Phlox, his voice brimming with excitement. He returned to the biobed and peered solicitously at the Captain. "What did you need to know?"  
  
Archer bit his lip, and said with unnaturally tight control, "If he's not Suliban, what is he?"   
  
Phlox gave another outrageously broad smile. "He's human!"  
  
"Human?!" gasped Archer. Even T'Pol was for a moment taken aback and was guilty of letting a breath escape as she stared wide-eyed at Simit.   
  
"Yes! Quite amazing!" Phlox beamed down at the miracle.  
  
"B... But..." stuttered Archer. He rubbed a hand over his face, took a deep breath and started again. "How can that possibly be? There are no humans out this far, and how could such a disguise be used, or why?" He shook his head.   
  
Phlox said, "Well, Captain. I have been considering this point. Could our visitor be connected with Mr Daniels, perhaps?"  
  
"From the future?" wondered Archer, comprehension dawning. That would certainly make sense, given the enhanced genetics.  
  
T'Pol sniffed disdainfully.  
  
Archer rounded on her, his voice carrying an edge supplied by his unease. "Do you have any better ideas?"   
  
T'Pol gazed at him composedly. "No, Captain, but there is no logical reason to suppose a connection with Daniels, or with time travel." She managed to say 'time travel' in such a way as to leave Archer in no doubt that it was an incredible notion. Archer considered the newly-revealed human. Why go to all this trouble? Who was he? He had to find out - he needed to talk with him.   
  
Tearing his eyes away from the patient, Archer asked Phlox, "How is Simit? Will he survive?"  
  
"Yes, Captain. I have administered a sedative, which is why he is asleep. Physically, he is now in good health despite his immersion in active circuitry. His genetic code apparently includes a repair mechanism for circumstances such as this. It is remarkable!" Phlox looked fondly at the wonder before him. A fascinating study indeed. He gave a pleased grunt as he decided that this would make an excellent subject for a paper. Perhaps he should consider working for a doctorate in Comparative Genetic Architecture?  
  
Archer frowned at Simit. He was no longer merely a pleasant companion. Simit had deceived them. Could he be a threat to the ship? It was imperative he found out what was going on. "Are you able to revive him, Doctor?"  
  
"Yes, Captain."  
  
"Very well. Go ahead."  
  
T'Pol stirred. "Captain, I urge caution. We have no idea who this person is or with whom he is aligned. Reviving him could prove dangerous."  
  
Archer considered this point. It was good advice. "Agreed. Doctor, please apply the restraints before we revive him."  
  
Phlox moved to comply, and Archer took the added precaution of ordering Malcolm to sick bay, "... and Lieutenant - come armed."  
  
Aye, Sir came the acknowledgement over the comm.  
  
Archer studied the patient. He could discern his human nature now he knew what he truly was. He scowled down at Simit, involuntarily closing his hands into tight fists. It was happening again! Why had his ship become so embroiled in that damned temporal cold war? He hated the idea of being a pawn, but with so little information available to him, he was pretty much powerless to take the initiative.  
  
The doors swished open and Malcolm walked in, his phase pistol on his hip. He placed himself at the foot of Simit's bed, noting the restraints.  
  
"Captain?" said Malcolm, exuding professional efficiency.  
  
"Malcolm," acknowledged Archer who was more than a touch embarrassed. "It seems I owe you an apology. Mr Simit is not what he seems to be." Archer waited for Malcolm to exhibit a moment of triumph, but to his surprise, it didn't come. No hint whatsoever of 'I told you so'.  
  
Malcolm regarded Archer steadily. For his part, he was not surprised at Simit's duplicity - his instinct was usually right. Indeed, he actually felt some relief that it had proven accurate this time also, so he didn't feel inclined to gloat. He waited patiently for the Captain to fill him in. "Sir?" he prompted, wondering what else there was to come.  
  
"He's not a Suliban, though. He's human," explained Archer, frowning down at Simit and still not quite able to believe it despite the evidence.  
  
"Human!" exclaimed Malcolm, regarding Simit with astonishment. He hadn't deduced that!   
  
"He has undergone genetic enhancements, according to Phlox," continued Archer. "More advanced than the Suliban, apparently."  
  
Malcolm cocked his head to one side as he considered Simit and what this revelation might mean. "Why would he do that? How did he get here? I don't understand," he confessed.  
  
"Frankly, neither do I," answered Archer. "We were..." he looked at T'Pol and amended his statement, "I was wondering if he could be connected with Daniels. Once he's revived I'm determined to get some answers."  
  
With all precautions now in place, Archer asked Phlox to administer the means to revive Simit. As the doctor leant forward over his charge to deliver the hypospray dose, Archer, T'Pol and Malcolm moved in around the foot of the bed in a curious semi-circle. Even T'Pol had an air of anticipation about her. With a hiss, the drug was dispensed at Simit's neck. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Simit's eyelids flickered and a tremor passed through his frame. He gave a groan. Slowly his head turned and he focused blearily on Phlox.  
  
"What happened?" he said weakly, his voice no more than a whisper.  
  
Phlox smiled comfortingly down at Simit. "There was an accident on the bridge. I'm afraid you suffered some severe burns from the circuitry. However, your... somewhat unique... physiology has carried out remarkable repairs to your body."   
  
Simit lay still and sighed in relief. "I remember now." Then a look of alarm crossed his face. "Doctor... what did you mean by my unique physiology?"  
  
"To treat you, I had to carry out detailed scans and these revealed the... ahh... modifications you have undergone."  
  
"No!" protested Simit as he tried to sit up, in vain because of the broad webbing straps lashing him to the bed. Distractedly he tried to free himself before realizing that it would do no good and falling back exhausted. "I don't understand. Why are these necessary?" He pulled against the restraints with disgust. "I am no threat to you."  
  
From the other side of the biobed, Archer said, "You have not been straight with us, Simit. Until we know what we are dealing with, I think it quite reasonable to take appropriate steps to ensure the safety of my crew and this ship."  
  
Simit turned his head to Archer. "No. You don't understand," he moaned. "How could I be a danger to you? It is quite the contrary." He swiveled his head round to see who else was in the room. "I appeal to you, please let me go. I promise I will not harm you."  
  
Archer regarded him through narrowed eyes, weighing the options. He said, "Then you must tell us who you are, and why you are here."  
  
"I can't," whispered Simit miserably. "I fear I have already caused a problem. I am not permitted to reveal more." He bit his lip and seemed almost ready to cry, blinking furiously.  
  
Archer contemplated the man before him. In his weak state, he wouldn't be able to do anything. Perhaps if he eased up on him, Simit would talk? He didn't appear to be a particularly strong-willed individual. He nodded to Phlox. "Let him go, please, Doctor. Malcolm, keep your eyes on him."  
  
Malcolm drew his pistol, checked its setting, and directed it with a steady hand at Simit. Phlox removed the restraints, giving Simit an encouraging nod.   
  
As the straps were released, Simit relaxed his tense muscles, grateful for the concession. He eased himself up and gingerly swung his legs over the side of the biobed. Phlox urged caution, but Simit assured him he was feeling stronger by the second. Phlox didn't doubt that, given what he had already observed of his metabolism. He glanced up at the biobed readings. Good! They were still recording.  
  
Simit certainly didn't seem like a menacing presence as he sat slumped on the biobed, naked except for the sheet gathered around his waist. He ran a hand over his now hairless head.  
  
"I'm sure you will soon have a healthy head of hair again, Mr Simit," assured Phlox.   
  
"Thank you, Doctor, for everything," said Simit with a wan smile.  
  
"Not at all! As I said, your recovery is almost wholly due to your own body's repair system."   
  
Archer glared at Simit and said sternly, "Now we've made you more comfortable, I expect some answers. What did you mean when you said you had caused a problem?"  
  
A small moan escaped from Simit. "I recall falling into your communications housing. Was there much damage?" A hopeful gleam lit his expression, but it was rapidly extinguished by Archer's reply.  
  
"I'm afraid so. We have internal communications but our external circuits are off-line, and are likely to be so for a day at least. They need to be re-built."  
  
Simit swallowed hard and met Archer's glare, his golden eyes sorrowful. "I'm sorry, Captain. I don't know what to do. That could change everything. It wasn't meant to happen." Then to himself, barely audible to the concerned officers, he said, "I wish I had never done this. Damn! What a mess."  
  
The four crew were standing facing Simit and watching him intently as he fretted. In the circumstances, it was not surprising that they nearly hit the ceiling when from behind them, which by all rights was empty space, a quiet voice came: "Yes. What a mess, indeed."

* * *

TBC  
  
A/N: Chapter 8 reveals all! My next posting will finish the story. 


	8. Disclosures

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Spoiler for 'Ceasefire' - it reveals in about six words what is disclosed at the very beginning of that episode.   
  
I have also posted Chapter 9 to finish, as it is only a short coda.

* * *

**Chapter 8 Disclosures**   
  
The officers spun about to face the intruder, Malcolm bringing his phase pistol to bear.  
  
Before them stood a human male of unremarkable appearance, wearing a close fitting blue tunic and black pants. He was of average height and build, had sandy hair, pale eyes and an aquiline nose. He exuded a superior attitude as he surveyed the astonished and dumbstruck Enterprise crew.   
  
"Good day," the new arrival said in an even tone, a sardonic smile gracing his thin lips. "Permission to come aboard?" He held his arms wide, palms forwards to demonstrate he carried no weapon.  
  
"Who are you?" said Archer, uneasily. "What are you?"  
  
The man gave a humorless bark of laughter. He delayed a beat before replying. "Oh, I'm human, just like your friend over there. Well, not like him exactly. I know what not to do. My name is Westerlake."  
  
Simit said, kneading his hands together anxiously, "Westerlake. I'm sorry. Umm. I don't know what happened. I got carried away. It was an accident though. Damn!"  
  
Westerlake raised an eyebrow and said, "I see you've acquired additional vocabulary... and a new hairstyle." Simit fixed his gaze on Westerlake and gave a couple of nervous twitches. Simit seemed too unsettled by Westerlake's presence to speak.  
  
Archer was becoming impatient and annoyed. He glared from Westerlake to Simit and back again. As Westerlake appeared to be in authority of the two, Archer decided to pursue matters with him. Taking a pace towards the man, he growled, "I want answers."  
  
Westerlake looked at him coolly, saying nothing. He appeared disinclined to accede to Archer's demand. It was plain to Archer that he was going to have to take the first step.   
  
Hoping he was on the right track, but not knowing how else he could force some disclosures, Archer said firmly, "I know you are from the future. Don't bother to deny it. What are you doing here?"  
  
To Archer's pleasure, Westerlake's composure was rattled for an instant. Westerlake blinked and then forced another humorless smile. "I'm impressed, Captain. How did you discover that?"  
  
Archer smiled back, just as humorlessly. "Let's just say, I have my sources." He considered Phlox's analysis. The genetic manipulation was far beyond the work done on the Suliban. Could these two time travelers really be from Daniels' time? It could well be the case. He risked another guess. "You are from the thirty first century." It was a statement more than a question.   
  
Westerlake inhaled sharply, much to Archer's satisfaction. So, Archer thought, he had hit the mark, had he? Westerlake pointedly looked at T'Pol, Malcolm and Phlox. Archer said airily, "Oh, my officers are also well aware of your activities. You don't need to hide anything from them either."  
  
Simit, who was still perched on the biobed, was gawping in shocked surprise at Archer. He turned towards Westerlake. "I didn't say anything, Westerlake. You must believe me!" he said pleadingly, twisting the bed cover between his fingers.   
  
"I believe you. Not even you would be that stupid," spat out Westerlake, his suave façade crumbling. He rounded on Simit, flinging an imperious arm at him. "How did you get in this mess? Do you realize what you have done to the timeline? There was supposed to be no interaction!"   
  
"I know, I know," moaned Simit, shaking his head in anguish. "I decided to disguise myself to observe more closely, but then in the bar on the planet, Lieutenant Reed spotted me. I couldn't get away and then I thought ... I thought... what if I could actually get on board Enterprise? What an opportunity!" His face lit up, before he remembered what was happening and he slumped down again. "Well, the Lieutenant made it quite clear I couldn't go with them. But Westerlake... it was such a revelation to actually talk with him. You have no idea how much I learnt from that short conversation!"  
  
Malcolm growled, "I knew I should've punched you on the nose!" Simit flinched at the idea but Westerlake gave a grim smile, as if that would have suited him also.  
  
Simit continued, "Anyway, I thought... why not speak to Captain Archer too, who knows what else I might find out. Then one thing led to another, and here we are."  
  
Westerlake stepped over to Simit and said quietly, with considerable menace, "Yes. Here we are, and with a wrecked communication system, thanks to you. And a wrecked timeline. You will not gain any benefit from this escapade, Smith - I will make sure of that!"  
  
Simit shrank in on himself as Westerlake berated him.  
  
"What did you call him?" asked Archer, wondering if he had heard correctly.  
  
"Smith. What did he say his name was?"  
  
T'Pol said, "He called himself Simit."  
  
Simit, or Smith, shrugged, "Smith was too human-sounding," he said listlessly.  
  
"I guess so," said Archer, still trying to figure out what was happening here.  
  
T'Pol turned to Westerlake. She gave an elegant lift of an eyebrow and said evenly, "Are you working with Mr Daniels?"  
  
"Daniels? No." Westerlake's response was immediate and somewhat aloof.  
  
Archer raised his voice a notch. He was getting tired of this. "Westerlake. We know about the Temporal Cold War. I know this era is a cold front in that war and that one faction is using the Suliban as their soldiers. Where do you fit in? I demand answers. We've been in the dark for too long. I will not be someone's pawn in this little game of yours!" His anger drove him to almost shout the last few words.  
  
Westerlake was reduced to stunned silence by this outburst. He opened his mouth but no words came out. He closed it again.  
  
Simit sat bolt upright and gasped, "Temporal Cold War?"  
  
"Yes," said Archer, still looking at Westerlake, "Thanks to Daniels we know a great deal about it. Now stop pretending and tell me what is going on here!"  
  
Simit-Smith pushed off the biobed, firmly holding the sheet around his middle, and stood before Westerlake. He said to Westerlake, "You have to let me use this. It explains so much!"  
  
Westerlake scowled at him. "Quiet! As I said, you are not going to benefit from your appalling behavior. However..." Westerlake paused, eyelids part closed in reflection, "it would be a shame not to use such data. Perhaps it might fall to me, then, to...?"   
  
Realizing he would get nowhere with Westerlake, Smith looked eagerly at the Captain. "Who are the Suliban?" he asked.  
  
It was the Enterprise officers' turn to be surprised.  
  
"Don't you know?" asked Archer, with a significant look at T'Pol, who had a quizzical expression.   
  
"They are not a significant race in our time," said Westerlake, smoothly and managing to make his time sound so much more superior than the primitive era he was existing in at the present.  
  
"You do know Daniels?" pursued Archer.   
  
"No, I don't know anyone of that name," said Westerlake with a dismissive flick of his hand.  
  
T'Pol turned to Archer, "Captain, perhaps we should be the ones who take care in revealing what we know."  
  
"I'm beginning to agree with you," said Archer. "Who... exactly... are you two...?" he tailed off as he failed to come up with a polite name for these jokers.  
  
Westerlake sighed and dropped his head as he considered his position. Then he straightened up, and said to Archer, "If I tell you more, could you expand on the Temporal Cold War?"  
  
"Yes," said Archer, inwardly resolving to say as little as possible. He resisted the urge to cross his fingers.  
  
Westerlake nodded. He said, "Smith, here, had permission to research this time period. His permit only allowed non-invasive study. He should not have allowed himself to be seen by you, even in disguise," (the last few words were spat out at Smith), "and as for actually speaking with any of you, that was absolutely forbidden. You will appreciate how grave his offence has been. He will never be permitted to conduct this type of work again, and he may even be forbidden from publishing again."  
  
"What sort of research is this?" inquired T'Pol.  
  
"I am a historian," replied Smith. "My specialty is the Warp 5 program mission, with particular emphasis on technical developments and their impact on events."  
  
"What?!" cried Archer. "This is outrageous!"  
  
"That's what I've been explaining," replied Westerlake.  
  
"No! Not outrageous that he broke your rules but that he is studying us like some... lab rats!" Archer knew that wasn't quite the correct analogy but he was too angry to come up with anything more suitable.  
  
Meanwhile, Phlox was humming delightedly under his breath as he observed the interactions. This mission became more fascinating by the minute. Histian indeed! A small guffaw escaped him.   
  
Malcolm took a step towards Smith. He still had a drawn phase pistol in his hand and it was now directed at the impostor. Quietly, he said, "What technical developments did you mean? The warp reactor?"  
  
"Oh no, that is a completely different area of specialization. No, I am an expert in your line of work actually, Lieutenant. You will be intrigued to know that you are my major study area." Smith smiled happily at Malcolm. What an honor for the Lieutenant! Surely he would be amazed and appreciative of the years of study that had been devoted to him and to his work.  
  
"What?" exploded Malcolm, his eyes on stalks at receiving this apocalyptic news.  
  
"It's a rewarding field because there are so many aspects to investigate. You know, the phase cannons and their power supply, force fields, the tactical alert, photon torpedoes..." Smith's eyes glazed over as he lovingly listed his pet project areas.   
  
"Enough!" barked Westerlake, giving Smith a furious look, "It seems I know more about your subject than you do, Smith!"  
  
Malcolm lowered his pistol. Placing it in its holster, he softened his aggressive stance and tried to smile at Smith. He spoke pleasantly to him, "Perhaps, Mr Smith, we could discuss these aspects in more detail? Should we start with the torpedoes? I'm sure we could find a private area somewhere."  
  
Archer looked on in mystification at his officer's sudden change in attitude. Smith's face lit up, "Oh, that would be wonderful!" He was overjoyed at at last being able to have a meaningful conversation with the object of all his studies.  
  
"No!" countered Westerlake stepping between the two men, "You fool, Smith. You cannot discuss any of this with Lieutenant Reed, and particularly not the photon torpedoes as the Enterprise is not yet equipped with them, as you should know full well."  
  
"It's 'Enterprise', not '_the_ Enterprise'," said Smith sulkily.  
  
The two time travelers glowered at each other. Archer and T'Pol contemplated them in silence. Malcolm was torn between wanting to extract Smith's knowledge from him in whatever way was most effective, preferably one involving some degree of pain, and the horror of his work being at the center of this idiot's field of study. Phlox observed all with delight.  
  
Smith broke the silence, and peered around Westerlake to talk to Malcolm. "Lieutenant, as it appears I am not allowed to speak with you on technical matters, perhaps there are some personal questions you could resolve for me."  
  
Malcolm stiffened. "Such as?"  
  
Smith sidestepped Westerlake and smiled ingratiatingly. "Well, I've already gained some useful information from the crew, but perhaps you would care to expound on your view of things. For example, how you get on with your colleagues here, your own team, why you joined Starfleet, any significant events in your childhood. It could throw some light on your psychology. "  
  
Malcolm blanched and his mouth became a tight line. His hand caressed the butt of the holstered phase pistol.  
  
Archer noticed Malcolm's fingers twitching around his weapon's grip and intervened, "I don't think that would be of any use to you, Smith."  
  
"Or any of your business," rasped Malcolm with a hard edge to his voice as he scowled at Smith.   
  
"Oh yes, it would be most useful," Smith replied earnestly, oblivious to his danger. "My biography was criticized as being too dry and with insufficient weight being given to Mr Reed's psychological make up. Actually," he preened, "I already have some useful additional material but this would give the added edge - it could even elevate me to the next level in my profession."  
  
"Biography?" said Malcolm in a strangled tone, hardly believing his ears. And then, eyes narrowed, "I'm going to kill him!"  
  
"No, no, Malcolm. Hold on. That's an order!"   
  
Archer grabbed Malcolm's right arm and T'Pol took his left, until Malcolm's breathing returned to normal. He relaxed and shook his head, "It's all right, Sir. I won't do anything." He added in a low mutter, "It would only increase sales if I killed him anyway."   
  
Archer tentatively let go and motioned T'Pol to do likewise. Malcolm was as good as his word and contented himself with a malevolent unyielding stare at Smith. He said, "Why me? Why not the Captain? Commander Tucker?"  
  
It was Westerlake who answered him. "Actually, all the significant figures on this ship are the subject of at least one biography by our time, Lieutenant. The most acclaimed work on Captain Archer is entitled 'Making History with Every Light Year'."  
  
Archer groaned. "I am never going to use that phrase again!"  
  
"You must, Captain, otherwise the timeline will be disturbed," said Westerlake. "As it is, we have caused enough disturbance here. Ideally, I would want to remove your memories, but it is a most delicate process. In any case, Smith has been on board too long and interacted with too many people. However, it has the advantage that you will recognize him if he tries this again."  
  
T'Pol said, with a skeptical air, "If you are from the future, why didn't you stop Smith before he made contact with Lieutenant Reed. Or stop him before he damaged our equipment?"  
  
Westerlake replied, "Logically, one would imagine that would be best. However, temporal mechanics does not use a great deal of logic. We proceed by trying to minimize paradoxes, and this course of action was the optimum for this intervention."   
  
Westerlake took a device from his pocket, and keyed in some commands. "May I have a PADD?"  
  
Phlox passed one over to Westerlake who held it adjacent his device. "I've downloaded positional and time data for you, Captain. If your communication system had been functioning correctly, you would have received instructions from Admiral Forrest to proceed to this rendezvous. You are asked to help mediate in a dispute between the Vulcans and the Andorians over a planet. If you follow these directions, it should bring you back onto the correct timeline."  
  
Archer looked at Westerlake in astonishment. T'Pol pursed her lips but remained silent.   
  
Westerlake said to Archer, "I've told you about our activities, as agreed. Before we leave, could you tell me about the Temporal Cold War? It could change all our historical analysis with this added factor."  
  
Archer considered for a minute. "I can tell you that there are different factions at work and someone from your century, Daniels, is mixed up in it. I am saying nothing more. You shouldn't publish anything without speaking to him. Do you know how to find him?"  
  
"Yes, Captain. I believe I do. Very well." Westerlake turned to each Enterprise officer in turn and bowed, "It has been a great honor to meet you all. We must go now."  
  
Smith bowed also. He opened his mouth to speak but before any words emerged, there was a blinding flash of light; and he and Westerlake were gone.

* * *


	9. Breakfast Time Talk

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

* * *

****

**Chapter 9 Breakfast Time Talk**  
  
The Chief Engineer and Chief of Security were deep in conversation, oblivious to the activity around them as the crew got their breakfasts.  
  
"If I'd known who he was, I would have talked to him. He could have told me about photon torpedoes, perhaps even forcefield technology," said Malcolm wistfully, gazing into nothingness. "I wonder what else he knew about?"  
  
Trip attacked his eggs with his fork, shaking his head. "But that isn't right is it? Who knows what would happen if you were just handed the information, and at the wrong time?"  
  
Malcolm pursed his lips, unconvinced. He looked at Trip. "What makes it the wrong time? We wouldn't know any different. I suppose Smith might find he doesn't exist any more," and, thought Malcolm, a good thing too.  
  
He didn't say the last bit out loud, but didn't need to. Trip understood all too well and was exasperated by his friend's attitude. He had tried to get Malcolm to take a more cordial approach to Simit, with limited success. It was his own fault that he had missed out on any intriguing morsels that their visitor might have let drop.  
  
Trip cajoled, "Come on. He wasn't that bad. He was a nice guy." Twisting the knife, he added with an emphatic prod in Malcolm's direction with his fork, "As you would've found out if you had spoken to him instead of carrying out surveillance on him."   
  
Malcolm thoughtfully chewed a piece of toast and marmalade. "Huh. I can't say that I agree with your assessment. He struck me as being a smarmy, shifty so and so. To think that idiot is in charge of presenting me to posterity! He was hardly some intellectual giant." He gave a grunt. "Are you sure he didn't say anything to you or anyone else?"  
  
"Quite sure. But then, he didn't have the in-depth knowledge of other fields. Only your own."  
  
"Umm. You know, you might feel differently about our little friend if he wanted to generate a psychological profile of you." Malcolm shuddered. He still hadn't worked up the courage to talk to O'Donnell to find out exactly what he had said to Smith about him.  
  
Trip said, "From what I've heard, he didn't try for a character study. He can't have gone... uhh, will go... that far wrong basing his work on the technical aspects alone."  
  
"Yes. Well, whatever. I'm going to make sure no one in the future gets hold of anything personal about me." Malcolm's tone was decidedly defiant.   
  
"But won't that change the timeline?" Trip asked.  
  
"That doesn't matter to me, does it? To any of us? Anyway, perhaps that's what I did? We don't know, do we?" Malcolm shot a self-satisfied smirk at Trip with this gem, confident the Commander wouldn't be able to dispute the logic. In the ensuing silence, Malcolm's grin spread into a broad smile as he returned with renewed enthusiasm to his breakfast.  
  
Trip gave Malcolm a sly look. Then, concentrating on his eggs, he said with deliberation, "You know, if you don't leave any details about yourself, the future historians will be forced to send someone back to find out in person, direct from the source... from you. More than one researcher, probably."  
  
Malcolm spluttered as a piece of toast lodged in his throat. He took a gulp of orange juice to wash it down.   
  
Finding his voice again, Malcolm insisted, "No. No... They wouldn't do that. They aren't supposed to make contact. It's against their regulations." He gave Trip what was meant to be a self-assured grin but his smile froze as he suddenly doubted. Was Trip right? But Westerlake had been very definite about its impropriety, hadn't he, after all...?  
  
Trip gazed at Malcolm levelly. Keeping an impassive face, he replied, "Maybe not in straightforward cases, but for a difficult subject like you... they'd make an exception. And you know what? You'd never know who it is." Trip pointedly swung his eyes around the room, resting briefly on each person.  
  
"I'm not important enough," protested Malcolm weakly, most alarmed indeed at this idea. His gaze darted over the others in the mess hall.   
  
"Oh, you are. Don't be modest. The father of the Reed alert!" Trip was enjoying himself hugely. He gave a broad grin at Malcolm's discomfort.  
  
Malcolm scowled back, unable to come up with a suitable reply.   
  
"See ya!" said Trip as he stood up, breakfast done.   
  
And on that cheery note, Trip departed for Engineering, leaving Malcolm with his head spinning.

T'Pol had explained that the Vulcan Science Directorate had determined time travel was impossible. Malcolm was beginning to wish he could agree with them - it would make life a whole lot simpler. He could see he was going to have a headache for the next few days while he figured this one out.

* * *

END

* * *

A/N: Did anyone figure it out? There were a few clues scattered along the way, but of the type that are only noticeable with hindsight, I think.  
  
Now you've read it, what do you think? Were there parts I should have left out or put in, was the pacing okay, which aspects were worked and which could be improved?   
  
I hope it was entertaining at any rate. I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
